


A Dangerous Game (that devious dance between you and me)

by violent_ends



Series: Devil, Devil [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Established Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Established Relationship, F/M, Fuckruary 2020 (Lucifer TV), Overstimulation, POV Chloe, POV Chloe Decker, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Post-Season/Series 04, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22652254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends
Summary: He chuckles in her ear, dark and dangerous like the night, the sound unmistakablyhisand although it sounds human, she knows it’s the way the Devil laughs, low and full of mischief – it’s in these moments that she remembers she has Satan inside of her, and she welcomes it as the sin it probably is.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Devil, Devil [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619773
Comments: 41
Kudos: 401





	A Dangerous Game (that devious dance between you and me)

**Author's Note:**

> In this Part 2, we find that our lovely duo has gone past the sweet lovemaking honeymoon phase and has decided that going at it against walls is a good way to blow off some steam. As one does.
> 
> Sugar prompt #18: Don't Stop + Spice prompts #18: overstimulation & #13: (light) breathplay

“_Lucifer_,” Chloe keens in breathless abandon, “Lucifer, oh G-"

She still slips up sometimes, but he doesn’t let her, sliding two long fingers in her mouth for her to suck on, filling her even more than he already is as he thrusts deep between her legs.

He’s holding her up from the back of one thigh, keeping her pinned against the ancient-looking wall of his penthouse, pants undone just enough for the fabric to be out of his way. Chloe is fully clothed, too, save for the underwear Lucifer shoved down and off her legs from under the skirt she wore for their dinner date.

Chloe moans around his fingers and thinks, briefly, about how gentle and tentative they used to be in the beginning, peeling away layer after layer of clothing with soft, reverent touches. They took their sweet time indeed, after a first, hasty humping session one morning, and for a while they worshipped each other with stars in their eyes.

But now that they know every inch of each other’s body, now that they know they are allowed to have this, there is hunger in their veins, an animalistic frustration that claws at their insides and begs to come out to make up for all the time they have wasted in the past.

It’s time to stop being fucking gentle, now. Mostly, it’s time to be fucking.

“Oh, Detective, the sounds you make" Lucifer groans in her ear, pulling his fingers out of her mouth to wrap one arm around her waist as he thrusts. “You drive me _wild_.”

Chloe tightens around him at the words, clutching desperately at his shirt-covered back as she holds on for dear life, her own back scraping against the uneven surface of the wall behind her. Lucifer’s fingers will leave indentations in the skin of her thigh, she knows, and the jolts of pain from his grip are delicious.

After overcoming his initial insecurities, he has taken her off her pedestal and has finally given in to his desire. And when he truly surrenders to it, like today, he is a hurricane, a tsunami, a perfect storm; he is everything Chloe thought he would be, and more.

“Don’t stop" she begs, her smooth cheek against his rough, stubbled one, keeping him close with one hand tight in his hair.

He chuckles in her ear, dark and dangerous like the night, the sound unmistakably _his_ and although it sounds human, she knows it’s the way the Devil laughs, low and full of mischief – it’s in these moments that she remembers she has Satan inside of her, and she welcomes it as the sin it probably is.

“Don’t stop what, love?” he asks, teasing, nibbling at her earlobe. “The talking or the shagging?”

“Both" she shudders, making him growl and hoist her up higher, the force of his hips almost enough to keep her up without any help from his arms.

“Mmm, you bloody love it, don’t you?” Lucifer asks her as his mouth travels lower, sucking marks into her neck, his hand moving from her back to her hair to expose more skin. “Love the way the Devil whispers in your ear, telling you all the dirty little things he'd like to do to you.”

“_Yes_" she agrees, her head bumping against the wall now that she has it thrown back to give his mouth access.

“Love the way I can hold you up and have my way with y-you" he continues, stuttering around a moan when Chloe clenches around him, and this time it’s her turn to chuckle, to marvel at the wreck she can reduce him to, this being of light and darkness and all that lies in between, this force of nature who let himself be tamed for the reward of her company, and now, of this.

She yanks his face away from her neck and kisses him with a viciousness she never thought she had in her, biting at his lower lip before licking into his mouth, but he can take it, can take _anything_, and as he trembles and shudders in her arms, he feels _hers_, hers to kiss and touch and claim, hers to have inside – cock and tongue and fingers, all of it, for her and no one else, not anymore.

“Chloe,” he croaks against her lips, “_Chloe_.”

He dives into the kiss again, frantic, desperate as he finally allows himself to be, the side of a coin that has softness and gentleness on its other side. He barely makes it to the elevator, these days, before he’s on his knees and scrambling at the button and zipper of her pants to lick into her, making her come around his tongue in a matter of minutes, or before his fingers find their way inside her panties when he decides he doesn’t want to stop tasting her mouth instead.

The days at work are endless, now, their shoulders or hands always brushing with the promise of something more, something real, something _raw_, and sometimes even Lux is too far. The end of some days, the most frustratingly difficult or uneventful days made of waiting and calls and paperwork, finds Lucifer buried into her from behind in a toilet stall of the almost empty precinct (not the much more spacious evidence locker, chamber of a secret memory she'd rather forget), one hand on her clit and the other over her mouth (he has no shame and would want everyone to hear her, but she asks him to, so he does).

“Harder" Chloe commands now as she does on those days, urging him forward by tightening her legs around him, her heeled shoes locked together around his waist. “Harder, Lucifer.”

_Harder, faster, rougher, deeper, more, more of everything, more of you, always_, she wishes she had the courage to say, but he knows, he must know even without being able to read the desire in her eyes. He complies right away, unable to deny her, maybe even relieved that she asked, because a part of him thinks she can’t take it as hard as he likes it but _oh_, she can and she will.

Their mouths go slack against each other as Lucifer's hips buck up mercilessly, his hair a mess thanks to Chloe's wandering fingers. She tugs at it, _hard_, getting a thrill out of the simple fact that she can, and Lucifer growls in pain and pleasure (both equally and exclusively hers to deliver, both miracles in their own right, both powers he trusted her enough to use against him). His eyes flash red as a defensive, subconscious reflex, she assumes, but this hellfire is Chloe’s to play with and she knows she won’t get burned by the heat.

Her roughness seems to embolden Lucifer all of a sudden, because the hand he’s not using to hold her up lightly wraps around her throat, making her whimper.

“Like this?” he asks, red flames swirling to stay this time, his grin possessive and predatory, but he’s barely applying any pressure; just letting her feel the hotness and firmness of his palm against her pulsing veins, letting her know he’s strong and solid and _here_.

“_Yes_” she says again – it seems to be the only thing she’s capable of saying at this point, the only thing she wants to be telling him from now until the end of her days.

“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Detective" he warns her, as if he could ever scare her, as if he could ever hurt her.

They've scared and hurt each other plenty and Chloe has finally learned, at a high cost, that nowhere is safer than under his touch, whether sweet or harsh, it makes no difference. Hands that have held whips and knives and God knows what else – for tortures both wanted and unwanted –, hands that have molded the stars into existence, are on _her_ now, coating her skin with the ashes of the world that lies below and the dust of the one that shines above.

She tightens her grip on her fallen angel's hair, cruel fingernails hooked into his scalp, and he tightens his own around her throat for a second before they both let go, deciding they don’t really care about who wins as long as they get to keep playing, fighting for dominance in sex as they always did in life. Lucifer’s eyes switch back to brown as his hand hastily moves lower between them, releasing the buttons of her blouse from their holes all the way to where the garment is tucked inside her skirt.

Lucifer slips his hand inside and under her bra to cup her breast, moaning in her mouth at the feel of her warm skin under his palm as if she granted him some kind of higher mercy, his thumb pressing and insistent on and around her nipple. He rolls and pinches and tugs in that way he loves to do to drive her insane, too fast and too much but never enough to make her snap. The added source of sensation makes Chloe whimper as he starts kissing down her jaw, and she wishes his mouth could replace his thumb instead, but she’ll make do.

“Don’t stop" she says again, just as his thrusts increase in speed. “_Please_, don’t stop.”

“Never" Lucifer breathes against her skin, and if Chloe was an archangel like him, or any other kind of non-human being, she assumes there’s a good chance they could really do this forever without needing to stop to eat or drink, without ever feeling exhaustion, coming undone together only to keep going, and going, and going until the world crumbles around them and maybe even after that, creating a new universe out of their lovemaking like two ancient gods of a tribal myth.

She wishes it could be so but she is only human, and Lucifer is Lucifer. She won’t last much longer, and he knows it, because of course he does – he who is Prince of Darkness but not of Lies, lord and champion of passion and desire; well, mostly of hers, these days.

“You’re close, aren’t you, darling?” he inquires smugly, voice hoarse and panting. He doesn’t need her to reply to know the answer, but when he keeps going he seems to lose the coolness he was trying to maintain, tone shifting from demanding to pleading as he starts to ramble.

“Come on, then. Let me hear you, let me _see_ you” he urges, out of breath despite the inhuman strength Chloe knows he possesses. “It feels so good, _you_ feel so good. Need to see you come, Chloe, _please_.”

Chloe fights the urge to bury her face in the crook of his neck so she can give him what he wants, what he _needs_. He was and always will be a king – she has no trouble picturing a crown on his head, now, from the way he talks and walks and sits, every office chair a throne under his weight –, but sometimes he’s more of a beggar between her thighs, starved and thirsty like a subject forgotten by his cruel queen.

She has no shame in letting him see her at her most vulnerable, open and writhing and helpless where she’s pinned between his imposing, unmovable body and the wall, but truth be told, she could just as easily say she’s the one holding him upright, keeping him in place like a prisoner in the slick, wet vice of her sex.

She presses her forehead against his then, the echo of a much tender moment but one that was always going to lead up to this one, she sees it now. She doesn’t manage to keep her eyes open when she comes, her moans higher and higher in pitch, but it doesn’t matter because she can _feel_ Lucifer watching her. His movements stutter at the sight, hand squeezing her breast in gratitude or supplication or both.

“Gorgeous" he whispers, before intoning a far from religious litany, “Gorgeous and perfect and mine, mine, _mine_.”

Chloe watches him lose himself in his pleasure for a moment, her mind hazy and slow, eyes half-lidded and heavy. She feels sore and oversensitive but welcomes his unyielding pace: it almost seems like a sin to rein him in, like trying to tame a wild creature of the woods, and to be honest, it’s a wonder to watch him at work when he truly lets himself go. She understands, now, that he is barely contained fire, and that sometimes she can allow herself to dance in the flames.

Still, it takes her by surprise when he doesn’t chase his high all the way to the end, keeping his rhythm slightly slower than she knows he needs. He grins like a wolf, tongue scraping along his teeth; he doesn’t even need his red eyes to remind her he used to rule over demons in a kingdom of ashes and ghosts.

“I bet you have another one in you” he whispers mischievously, his hand leaving her breast to settle at her hip, opposite from where he’s holding the back of her thigh, and push her down as he thrusts up.

“_Lucifer_,” she keens, “I-“

“You told me not to stop" he cuts her off with a leer, arching one eyebrow at her, and Chloe can’t help but roll her eyes.

“Well, sooner or later you'll have to, don’t you think?” she quips. Lucifer stills suddenly, making her very aware of how deep he’s buried into her, of how overwhelming it feels now that they’re stuck and unmoving.

“You sure, Detective?” he teases, infuriatingly full of himself – something she hates and loves about him almost in equal measure, this pride that sets him apart from everyone and conceals the weakness underneath. Chloe shakes her head and laughs at him, her mirth cut short by his renewed thrusts and the laughter he directs at her in response.

It hurts but it hurts so good, and Chloe knows that the answer, deep down, is that she does have another one in her. He will take her there, he knows how; she just needs to trust him with it. And she does.

When she nods, her face scrunched up and her teeth biting into her lower lip, he laughs again victoriously, a low rumble that comes from a world that isn’t hers. “Good girl,” he praises her, sending a spark of painful pleasure through her. She would probably object to him being so patronizing as a general rule, but she’s spent, and the words do please her; this isn’t a crime scene nor the precinct and in here, she will allow him to be smug.

He takes her there by using all the tricks he knows, some learned from other bodies and some from hers. He sucks at a spot behind her ear that turns her knees to jelly, rolls his hips and directs her own to hit at just the right angle, and finally sneaks a hand under her skirt to circle his thumb around her clit until she’s gasping in his mouth and coming again, her orgasm short but _hard_, almost unbearably so.

“Chloe, the way you look,” he groans as she comes down, now fully slumped against him. “I'm going to-"

“Come" she cuts him off, using her last shred of energy to take him by surprise, clutching desperately at his hair to spur him on. “Come, Lucifer.”

Lucifer’s face finally scrunches up in a way that is now familiar to her, his whole body seizing up as he obeys to her command, mouth open and hot against hers. Chloe clenches and pulses around him from the aftershocks, pressing his face against her neck as if to shield him – he is so very human, with her, always, but _more_ when his defenses crumble in her arms.

They breathe heavily against each other, the world slowing around them only to pick up its pace again. Lucifer pulls out of her but stays close, supporting her as her legs tremble from numbness, gently brushing his nose against hers in a silent apology when Chloe winces in discomfort from the roughness of their little game. His mouth starts peppering slow, languid kisses from her ear to her shoulder, soothing the faint but throbbing pain of the hickeys he left behind.

Chloe feels boneless and sweaty, her clothes sticking to her skin, but she doesn’t want to get back to the floor just yet. Her fingers play with Lucifer’s hair as his dreamy daze leads him to the fading mark left by Jimmy Barnes' bullet, tender lips ending up where everything started, when he said _I won’t let you_ – and he didn’t, he wouldn’t, he _won’t_, just like he won’t stop as he vowed.

_Never_, he promised.

And if there’s one thing Chloe is certain of, is that the Devil doesn’t lie.


End file.
